


And He Grabs Me, He Has Me By My Heart

by lavishsqualor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crossdressing, Feminization, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6373258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavishsqualor/pseuds/lavishsqualor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam catches Dean wearing red underwear, and they're not boxers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And He Grabs Me, He Has Me By My Heart

They’re about fifty miles out of Tulsa, and the heat, it’s staggering, even though they’re deep into autumn. It’s an Indian summer, and it’s fucking unfortunate that they had to stop here.

"See you when I see you," Dean had said as he pulled into the lot of Lucky No. 7 Motel. "Just gonna grab a drink."

That was three hours ago.

Sam doesn’t like being stuck in a place with no working air conditioner, or at least this sorry excuse for one that's no more than a window unit that spits out warm water droplets and no discernible cold air, and he really doesn’t like that he's stuck in the motel room alone. He doesn't enjoy letting Dean go off to get himself plastered, but Sam can tell when Dean needs space. Sometimes the hunting together, living together, sleeping together thing gets to be a little much, and Dean had been particularly strung out all day. 

So Sam will let Dean have some space.

There’s probably five minutes left of the Animal Planet special on sea lion mating behavior. Sam's actually pretty interested, sitting at the end of the bed with the remote dangling from one hand. Just as the male sea lions are about to venture into a group of a couple dozen female sea lions, the room’s door slams abruptly into the adjacent wall. Dean comes crashing in with it.

"Jesus!" Sam’s up off the bed within a millisecond of realizing what’s going on, that Dean’s too hammered to even open a goddamn door. He’s fine, though, clearly, and he doesn’t need Sam in his face and coddling, but Sam can’t help it. Sam rolls his eyes when Dean tries to shove him away, and gets his hands on Dean's shoulders. He rights him, but Dean stumbles back, his head knocking on the wall and his face scrunching up in annoyance. 

“Get off me, Sammy,” Dean says, and he’s pushing Sam away. But he’s calling him Sammy. 

Yeah, Sam steps back, but not before grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him along, swinging him around so they both land with their asses on the bed. Dean's momentum keeps him going, and he falls back with a, “Umph," and doesn’t even move to sit up.

Sam turns and watches him. He’s shimmying on the bed, rubbing his shoulders into the mattress and smiling like it’s the best thing he’s felt in weeks. 

Sam feels a rush of stupid fondness, and this is why he lets Dean go on these one-night benders occasionally. Dean’s not okay, hasn't been in months. He’s putting on a really good front, perhaps even fooling himself, but he’s torn up about Dad. Torn the fuck up. 

So if he has to go drown his unvoiced sorrows once every few weeks, well. 

“Come on, Dean.” Sam reaches over to tug on Dean’s arm, in some lame attempt to get him to scooch up the bed, but gives up when Dean drags like a bag of bricks. He smoothes his hand across Dean’s chest instead. It’s firm and warm, and Sam starts unbuttoning Dean’s shirt, slowly, until Dean smacks at his hand and says, “What? You think you can just take advantage of me?” And then he does scoot further up the bed.

Sam gets on his knees, crawling up to him. “Just thought I’d help you get ready to sleep it off, but if you want to be taken advantage of—” 

Dean sits up, all abruptly and jerky, because while he likes to argue the opposite, he’s actually not the slightest bit smooth when he’s drunk. He tugs his overshirt up and over his head, not bothering with the buttons, and as he stretches, his t-shirt tugs up with it. His jeans are riding low, too, way down on his hips, so there’s an expanse of skin showing. And there’s more, there’s a peek of red, and Sam doesn’t know of any red underwear in Dean’s wardrobe, so he leans toward Dean, grabs a handful of denim and yanks.

Dean yelps, straight up yelps, and then he’s swearing, slurring curses. 

Dean is wearing red underwear. They’re panties. 

He says, “Sam, I. It’s not what you think. It’s. I.”

Sam’s not thinking anything, he just pulls harder, leans down and tugs Dean’s jeans off completely, because Dean is wearing panties. And they’re lacey. 

Dean is wearing motherfucking red, lace panties. And they have this little scalloped edge on them. And did Sam mention lace? Dean’s dick is tucked right in there, all tight and snug behind the fabric, tiny red flowers forming only a patchwork, hiding nothing, and it’s the hottest thing Sam’s ever seen. 

He needs his brother to know as much, so he says, “Shut up. God, Dean, just shut up," then he leans in and down, just presses his face into Dean’s crotch, nosing at the hair there, underneath the lace, at Dean’s cock. He licks out, tastes the fabric (it’s clean, fresh), tastes Dean underneath. 

Dean’s cock starts to swell, then, and he has shut up. Mostly. He’s murmuring, “Sam. I’m sorry, so sorry, Sammy,” and other nonsense. 

Sam says, “No. Why would you be sorry? Don’t be sorry,” and then he digs his fingers into his brother’s hips harder. The lace, it’s special; it's sexy. It’s _beyond_ sexy. It’s coarse against Sam’s fingertips, and he snaps the frilly elastic where it's pulled taut along Dean's skin. Dean pretty much moans, and his now solid dick jumps underneath the fabric. It’s lifting the panties, Dean’s cock too much to be contained. 

Sam takes the leaking tip into his mouth. 

Now _Sam’s_ moaning, while he alternates between sucking hard and flicking his tongue into the slit, his voice a low growl deep in his throat. And while Sam’s been reduced to primal communication, Dean’s found his voice back. “Oh yeah, Sam,” he says. “Yeah, Sammy, suck me,” and if Dean’s a little sibilant, Sam’s not too concerned. It’s not like Dean doesn’t want this. 

It’s not like Dean isn’t the one wearing motherfucking _panties_ right now. 

And Sam doesn’t even know how Dean came to possess them, or why he’s wearing them today, or how often he does, or anything, and he finds that he does not care. Because it’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen. Ever.

Sam’s swirling his tongue, laving along the underside of Dean’s prick, and he’s just teasing Dean. Dean’s determined to speed things up, though, his mouth spewing filth to spur Sam on. “Come on. Come on and fuck me, Sam. Know you wanna.”

“Yeah.” Sam snaps the panties when he lets go of Dean, and Dean arches against the bed. “Huh,” Sam says. “You like that, Dean?”

Dean keens when he does it again. 

And that is it. Sam’s rolling Dean over that instant, not even waiting for him to get to his knees before he brings his hand down on Dean’s ass. Hard. A sharp slap, and then another, and Dean’s near whimpering. 

“You been a bad girl, Dean?” _Smack._

“Yeah, Sammy. Yes.” _Smack._ “Really bad girl.”

They’ve played with this before, not the panties, hell no, that’s all new and completely amazing, but they’ve toyed with some punishment. Never real serious before, not like this. Sam likes it. He likes being rough with Dean, he likes the stark counterpoint to the delicate lace that his fingers sweep. He wants more.

He slips three fingers under, the red of the lace sharper against his skin than Dean’s reddened ass, and slips the panties down just a little, saying, “So bad. Not gonna leave me alone all night again, are you?”

“No. No, Sammy,” Dean says.

Sam’s got one hand spreading Dean apart and he’s staring at Dean’s hole. “I don’t know,” he says, “Bad girls need their pussies spanked, I think.” And then he brings his other hand down, right on Dean’s asshole, and then he does it again, all four fingers feeling the heat. 

Dean’s so pink, and his whole body is thrumming with energy. He’s more riled up over this than Sam’s seen him in, hell, months. He’s backing up into the slaps, now, humping into the air and back into Sam’s hand, and he’s mumbling, “Fuck me, Sam. Fuck my pussy.”

“Oh yeah,” Sam groans. Because Jesus _Christ_ , that word coming out of Dean's mouth, like this. 

Sam doesn't know how this was some secret, hidden kink of Dean's, how they've never explored this before. Because fucking hell, he wants to fuck that pussy. "Yeah, Dean. Gonna fuck you. Gonna fuck that pussy. First, just gotta—" 

Sam grabs the lube from the side pocket of his duffle. He's scrambling back to the bed, trying to get his shirts off with one hand and his jeans with none, toeing out of his pants and kicking them off. It's embarrassing, but he can't manage the shirts, so Sam throws the lube over to Dean, who's rolled onto his back, little red panties all pulled back into place— except for where they cannot contain the massive bulge of his full to the hilt prick. Dean grabs the bottle and laughs, keeps chuckling as be pours some out onto his fingers. 

They'd run out of lube last week, and Dean had come back with some cherry-fucking-flavored concoction, and Sam had laughed to high hell. Dean hadn't even cracked a smile, just saying, "You wait, Sammy. You'll love it."

Dean's pulling the lacey briefs to one side with his other hand while he brings the fingers coated in lube to his hole, so pink it's almost red, so red it almost matches his panties. Jesus fucking Christ.

Sam’s not sure about the cherry, but he does, at least, need to taste. He surges forward, brings his mouth in close, and licks along all of Dean’s crack that he can get at with the panties just pulled to the side. It’s artificial, but cherry, and Sam loves cherry so it’s okay, but most importantly, it’s warm, it’s hot. Dean’s spanked hole is hot, and he flinches at first, but then bears down onto Sam’s tongue. 

“Oh yeah, Sam,” Dean says. “Oh yeah. Eat my pussy, yesss.”

Mother of fuck. Sam does, fast, and hard, and god, it’s so good, Dean tastes _so_ good, but Sam can’t handle waiting any longer. He needs to fuck Dean.

“Gonna fuck your cunt, Dean,” Sam says, and he doesn’t even know where that comes from, but manners are the least of his worries right now, when he’s got spit and lube to kiss Dean with. Dean’s up off of the bed like he can read Sam’s mind, and he’s licking and _mmm_ ing into Sam’s mouth.

"I told you it’d be yummy,” Dean says. 

"Mmmm," Sam says, agreeable. He’s got more of the stuff on his dick, now, and he’s smearing it around, over the head and all the way to the base, because he’s going to fuck this pussy good.

“Let me have it, Dean,” Sam says, and he’s spreading Dean wide, yanks Dean’s panties completely out of the way.

He sinks in, then, one long, smooth stroke, all the way in. Dean gasps, and he flushes, his chest and neck pinking up to match the heat in his cheeks. A moment, stillness, just the heaving of hot, mingled breaths, and then Dean nods, says, “Come on, Sammy. Fuck me.”

It’s so tight, though, Dean without barely any prep, and it's so, so hot, and Sam goes slow, eases out of Dean inch by inch. A beat, then two, and then Sam slams back in. 

He can feel the scratchy catch of the lace on his pubes, and he wonders how it must feel for Dean. He must be so over-the-edge, that constant pressure of those flowers sliding up against his prick. 

“Fuck yeah, Dean. Do you like it? Do you like it when I fuck your pussy?” 

Dean pretty much growls as he arches back and changes the angle completely. Sam falls forward, but he takes one of Dean's legs with him, pinning it up and splaying him out even further. Sam fucks into him, hard, and then harder, relentless. 

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean says, and Sam continues, increasing steadily in his pace. He sees a droplet of sweat from somewhere near his temple fall down to Dean’s bottom lip, and he sees a flash-swipe of red tongue lick it away. 

Dean’s panting, heavy and hot, and he says, “Fill up my cunt, Sam. Stuff me full.”

And Sam's about to lose it right then. He reaches a hand down, quick, palms along Dean’s cock, grinds his hand into it, and he feels Dean’s come hit the tips of his fingers, warm, wet. Dean’s shivering in his arms and spasming on his cock, and the whole thing is too much. Sam lets go just as his own orgasm overtakes him, and he surrenders to it, splurting more and more as he thinks about pumping Dean’s pussy full with his load. 

Sam’s spent, and he collapses on Dean, heat of the room and the sex be damned, staying right there for at least a whole minute before Dean squirms beneath him.

He's back on his haunches, now, and he's slid his hand all the way down Dean's leg, has the arch of Dean's foot cupped in hand. He tickles the bottom, and Dean full out giggles. And that's why Dean pretends he's not ticklish. And that's why Sam relishes the sound when he gets it, why he loves Dean when he's so open and relaxed, all his guard down. 

Not that he doesn’t _always_ love Dean.

“So,” Sam says, no longer tickling, just rubbing, kneading, and he smiles. “What else have you been hiding from me all these years?”

**Author's Note:**

> written for [Salt Burn Porn](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com)


End file.
